


Friends in Low Places

by icantwritegood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Many gays, Spy Agency, With an overarching plot, a bunch of people who don't like each other who have to work together, a story per chapter, is fear a madman?, is horsely insane or ingenious?, is ricky a murderer?, read on to find out, this is going to be almost like a series, where does norris keep all her clothes?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: Many people say it's good to have friends in high places.Sometimes it's good to have better friends in lower places.These are their stories.Dun-dun.





	Friends in Low Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kind of based Tinsley off Shane's nice bubbly side and Banjo off his scary side because like why not??? holly horsley is miranda priestly. francesca norris is janelle monae except tall. ricky is clearly the one and only ryan bergara. 
> 
> i do not endorse any of their actions in this series.
> 
> it will be updated quite erratically, as i have come to accept that i have no impulse control when it comes to writing new fics and am a general mess
> 
> very much based on Archer/It's Always Sunny regarding their dynamics.

“Are you in position?”

“Are  _you_ in position?”

“Obviously I’m in position. How else would I be talking to you if I wasn’t in position?”

“Don’t start getting cheeky with me, Goldsworth. Or I’ll give it back to ya.” A pause. “Hard.”

“Can you two just shut up for once in your lives? Or life. Since you’re life partners or whatever.”

“That’s not what I said. I said we were partners  _for_ life.”

“That still sounds gay, Ricky.”

“It doesn’t sound- We’re not gay!” Banjo lowered his voice, turning away from the entrance to the building as he muttered into his shirt collar. “We’re not. He meant partners in crime.”

“But he said for life.”

“Shut up, Norris. You’re just jealous you don’t have a partner in crime.”

“ _Or_ a partner in life,” added Ricky, the metal of the sniper cool against his cheek as he continued peering through the sight. “Probably because - Because you’re a bitch.”

“Fuck you, Goldsworth.” 

“Nice one, Ricky!” Banjo gave a hearty laugh, earning a few puzzled looks from the passing citizens. “You got ‘em.”

“Stop laughing, you idiot.” Francesca glowered at him from across the square, her coffee halfway to her mouth. “You look like an idiot.”

“I look great. I mean, check this shit out.” He gave a slow twirl on his heel, throwing a wink back at her. The long black coat with its high neck lifted slightly in the wind as he did so. “It’s new.”

“It’s also mine, I noticed.” Francesca Norris lounged in the seating area outside a stylish cafe, full of white marble and black chalkboards and average cups of coffee. Although she tried to appear inconspicuous, one couldn't help but throw a glance her way. In her tailored grey suit, with a wide-brimmed black hat sitting upon her head at a jaunty angle, and her white shirt unbuttoned to a tasteful amount, she could easily have been mistaken for some sort of celebrity. "Stop stealing my clothes."

“You’ve got style, Norris. I can’t take that away from you.” He grinned. “Not metaphorically, anyway.”

“I’m gonna start locking my room again.”

“I’m a thief, Norris.”

“God. Don’t remind me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, what is with everyone in this damn agency thinking they’re so morally superior? We're all-”

“Guys.” Ricky sounded urgent. “I think I can see him.”

Francesca slyly turned her head, rolling her eyes as she noticed Banjo whip around instantly across the way. “Oh, subtle, McClintock. Real subtle.”

The old man was making his way slowly down the stone steps outside the parliament building, cane in one hand, briefcase in the other. He was making his way slowly. As I said. Slowly. Very slowly. God, he was so slow.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Ricky, watching the old man descend another gradual step. “He looks near death. Maybe I should just put him out of his misery.”

“Horsley will have your head on a plate, Goldsworth.”

“But isn’t he the leader of a rival party?”

“Yeah, and that briefcase has everything that party has been discussing, planning and scheming.” Banjo took a casual step forwards, hands in his coat pockets. “And it’s mine, baby.”

“Look, what have I said to you about calling me baby?”

Francesca smiled to herself. “You know, I’ve never heard you call anyone else ‘baby’.”

Banjo threw her a dry look as he crossed the square towards the steps. “Not true.” Very true.

“Is Ricky your baby-boo?” Francesca bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. “Do you princess-carry him up the stairs to your shared apartment every night?”

“That was one time,” said Ricky disapprovingly. “Because I was too drunk to walk.”

They had both been too drunk to walk. Banjo had stumbled up the stairs with the shorter man in his arms, Ricky singing some made-up song about popcorn at the top of his lungs. And they had almost made it all the way up, until they didn’t. Banjo had tumbled back down the marble steps, landing in a baffled heap at the bottom. Ricky had somehow managed to land upright, dancing at the top of the stairs, swinging his hips side-to-side to an imaginary beat. Yeah, the neighbors didn’t like them that much, but they didn’t dare approach them. They were a gruesome twosome and a dynamic duo, simultaneously.

“Then how come _I_ woke up on the floor of our hallway while  _you_ woke up in our apartment?” asked Banjo wryly, a tone that made it clear they’d discussed this before. “You could walk fine.”

“Look, as I-”

“Shut up.” Tinsley’s voice was almost indistinguishable from Banjo’s. “Just get the case and bail, man. At this rate the old geezer’s gonna disappear.”

“Shut up, man. I know how to do my job.”

"Is stealing things a job?"

"Well you can't talk about jobs, since you lost yours. You idiot."

"At least I _had_ one!"

"At least I'm good at what I do!"

“Yeah! You are! So do it.”

“It’s still so fucking weird,” muttered Francesca as she listened to them argue. “It’s like having an argument with yourself.”

Tinsley and Banjo were identical. Identical twins. Same towering height, same thick head of hair, same voice, same gestures. The easiest way to tell them apart was the fact that Tinsley wore a long trench coat and dark brown rimmed hat almost always, while Banjo stuck to waistcoats and statement ties. Tinsley wore black-framed glasses, while Banjo wore clear frames. Tinsley was a good man. Banjo was not. Little things.

"C'mere, you dusty bastard." Banjo hopped up the steps, hands in his pockets, making a beeline for the old man. "Watch and learn, ladies and gents. The master is as work."

"If you were really a 'master' at your job, then you wouldn't be here," said Francesca flatly, watching his tall figure make a wide circle around the old man so that he was behind him. "Also, you're robbing a man near death. It's not that impressive."

"Wait, Francesca." Tinsley paused, the anticipation palpable. "Do you- Do you hear that?"

She sat upright. "Hear what?"

"I- I think it's Banjo tooting his own horn."

"And they say blood is thicker than water," muttered Banjo as he heard the hearty laughter in his ear.

The next few minutes passed in a blur, marked by an alley, a brick wall to the face, and few whacks from a cane. Oh, and no briefcase.

* * *

Horsley stood at her mahogany desk, hands pressed to it. Her grey suit matched her grey eyes. Her silver watch matched her silver hair. She was metallic in every sense. She gave each of them a long, hard stare. Then she took off her wire-framed glasses and gave them each a longer, harder stare. She pointed at Ricky and Banjo without even looking at them.

"You two. Sit apart."

They did so reluctantly, scooching their chairs further apart from each other.

Horsley moved to the small drinks cabinet beside her desk. She laid out one glass. She put ice in it. She put a generous dose of whiskey into it. She took a long sip. The other occupants of the room waited for her to speak, sitting in various stages of unease. Tinsley sat forwards, elbows on his knees, fingers clasped. Francesca sat with her legs crossed, chin resting in her hand, fingers laid across her mouth. Ricky couldn't seem to stop his fingers from tapping on the arm of his chair.

"McClintock." Horsley turned to look at the man in question, the ice clinking quietly in her glass. "You seem very relaxed."

He sat back in his chair, legs crossed in a figure four. Much too relaxed for someone with a scratched-up face and rumpled clothing. "I've been in more threatening situations, I'll have to admit."

"Ah. Have you." She didn't give him a chance to reply, moving around to the front of her desk. "You fucked up out there. Big time. Why's that?"

"He was busy flirting with Goldsworth," muttered Francesca, raising her eyebrows.

"I wasn't-" Banjo glowered at her. "I wasn't. I just- I got distracted."

"Not good enough." She let her steely eyes wander across the four people. "You seem to forget, quite frequently, that the only reason you people aren't skipping down to Ol' Sparky is because of me. Because you're of use to me. You stop being of use to me..." She raised her drink, pausing before taking a sip. " _Bzzt_. You understand?"

Tinsley nodded earnestly. "Yeah. Absolutely. But-"

"No buts." She moved over to the slatted blinds, through which came narrow beams of orange streetlight. She hadn't turned the light on. She didn't want her neighbors to see who was in her study with her. "Tinsley, Norris, you can leave."

The scrambles of chairs moving as the two eagerly did so. Banjo and Ricky shared a quick look, swallowing. This wasn't good.

"I have a few questions for you two." She wandered back over to her desk, the whiskey made golden by the low light coming in through the window. "Do you smoke?"

Banjo took one of the offered cigarettes, lighting it up himself. Ricky refused. He didn't like them. He didn't like Banjo smoking them. But there was no talking to him. Horsley lit one too. Ricky glowered at nothing in particular, lifting his shirt collar up over his nose. _Nasty_. 

"How did you two meet?"

Banjo took a long drag from his cigarette, hearing it fizzle as he did so. "Why?"

"Francesca jokes." Horsley waved her cigarette vaguely as she spoke, wandering back and forth in front of them. "Tinsley jokes. Fear jokes. About you two. Are you sexually involved?"

"No!" Ricky rolled his eyes, the only bit of his face visible right now. "No, we never- We're not sexually involved. There's nothing wrong with it! But we're not."

Banjo didn't reply. He exhaled the smoke through his pointy nose, leaning back in his chair. 

"I hope you aren't. Because I don't condone it." She fixed them with another hard look. "I don't condone romantic relationships between any of my employees. It's distracting."

"Do we count as employees?" Banjo raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember signing a contract."

"The contract was signed in your blood, Mister McClintock."

He shut up at that, choosing to simply place his cigarette back in his mouth. 

"You both signed a contract that night." She leaned back against her desk, her wire glasses glinting. "All of you did. You sold me your damn souls. I _own_ you. And I can sell you to Death Row the second you start being more of a liability than an asset. Are we clear?"

Ricky replied instantly. "Yes. We're clear."

Banjo removed his cigarette to let one word roll out. "Crystal."

"Excellent." She paced back around her desk, sitting down in her leather chair, readjusting her glasses on her nose as she went right back to work. "You can let yourself out. And turn the light on on your way."

They promptly did so. Horsley sat back in her seat, linking her hands over her stomach. It felt a bit pudgy, but what did she expect? She was fifty-two, nearly fifty-three. She didn't care, though. She didn't mind her wrinkles, her occasionally creaky joints, her hair that she'd immediately let go grey. She embraced it. She was a powerful woman, and her appearance didn't matter to her half as much as her power did. She puffed at her cigarette distractedly, staring at her desk. Then she stared out the window. Then she stared at the ceiling. Then she stared at nothing. That briefcase was extremely important to her. And so what if she'd lied to her little gang of rejects about what was in it? It wasn't any of their business, anyway.

* * *

Francesca and Tinsley had gone on ahead, it had appeared. The usual loyalty. Ricky threw an anxious look up at his... His friend? No. Not really. His coworker? Barely. His roommate? Jeez. Banjo finally finished the cigarette Horsley had given him, chucking it to the pebbles below, crushing it with his foot. He didn't speak.

"She's so scary," whispered Ricky, hands deep in his coat pockets as they strolled down the quaint, quiet street. "So intense."

"She's just like every other politician." Banjo pushed his clear glasses further up his nose with a long finger. "A snake. A snake in the grass. And she's got her fangs in deep, man."

"Yeah." Ricky kicked a stone as they walked, watching it bounce on ahead. "Does she not know how we know each other?"

"She's a politician. Sometimes, the less she knows, the better." He shrugged. "It doesn't really matter, anyway."

Their synced footsteps filled the silence. Ricky kicked the same stone again, further up the leafy path. It was a nice road. Of course it was, if Holly Horsley lived on it. She didn't touch anything that didn't look, smell, and feel like a million dollars.

"She seemed pretty angry."

"She _was_ pretty angry," replied Banjo, hands in his pockets. "And I can't stop thinking about why. I mean, what must've been in that briefcase?"

"Well we never got to find out," muttered Ricky, throwing a disapproving look at the taller man. "Thanks to you."

"Thanks to me?" Banjo returned the glower, pausing under the next wrought-iron streetlight. His face was obscured by shadows, while Ricky's was alight with the orange glow from the lamp behind the taller man. "How was I supposed to know the old guy could use a cane like a damn battering ram?"

"You couldn't steal a briefcase off an old man." Ricky raised an eyebrow. "What's next? You can't take candy from a baby?"

"He was a fucking cover, man." Banjo continued walking, hearing the shorter man join him instantly. "You guys couldn't see, but his creaky joints vanished the second he turned into that alley."

"So an old man beat your ass," grinned Ricky, giving a little skip as he walked. "You were never too good with your fists, were you?"

He frowned at the path. "I want that briefcase."

Ricky stared at him for a moment, coming to a halt. "Hey. No. Don't do what I think you're gonna do."

"She'll be happy if I get-"

"Horsley will _not_ be happy if you go rogue and try and get the case without her knowing!" Ricky spread his arms, as if the stupidity before him was simply incomprehensible. "Remember last time? For real? She almost killed you, dude!"

Banjo was quiet, looking down at him. "So you'll come with me?"

Ricky hesitated, arms falling back to his sides. "I- Fine. Yeah. I guess I'll go with you."

"Sweet." Banjo clapped a hand on his shoulder, guiding him down the path. "So I got his name. It's a Carlos Oliveira. He lives a few blocks away."

"Wait, you mean, like, now?"

"The sooner the better," shrugged the taller man, giving Ricky's shoulder a tight squeeze. "And also, it means Norris and Tinsley won't find out. They'd ruin it."

"Yeah. Totally."

"They're fucking tools, right?" Banjo snorted, keeping his arm around the shorter man's shoulders. "I can't believe I'm related to that dithering idiot, too. And he had the cheek to try and tell me how to do my job?"

The two men continued on down the path, chatting and joking and being general nuisances in an otherwise very upper-class neighborhood. It was a neighborhood where gardens were always immaculate, where sweet housewives left sweeter pies to cool on windowsills, and where it was not often two people hid behind walls to eavesdrop on their coworkers. Francesca finally peered out from behind the red brick wall of the neat garden she was hiding in, seeing Tinsley immediately copy out of the corner of her eye.

"Those sons of bitches," she muttered, ignoring the curse from the man beside her as he fumbled to find his hat in the bushes below. "They're trying to steal all the glory here. I mean, what happened to teamwork?"

"Do you not remember their whole 'lone wolf' speech on the first day?" Tinsley brushed off his hat, setting it back over his frizzed hair. "Because I sure as hell do. I literally couldn't understand how I was related to that guy. And I still can't."

"He's the worst. They're both the worst." She glanced at him. "You got Fear's number?"

"Ugh, really?" Tinsley pulled a face. "Can't _you_ ring him?"

"No! He's weird."

"Exactly!" 

"Just ring him, man!" 

Tinsley sighed heavily, taking out his phone, reluctantly dialing the number. "You know I hate bringing Fear into this stuff, Fran."

"If we're gonna beat Banjo at robbing something, we've got to cheat a bit!"

Tinsley dropped the phone from his ear. "Wait, you want _us_ to rob the case? I thought you just wanted to stop them from stealing it!"

She hopped over the wall, dusting off the sleeves of her cashmere sweater. "Oh don't go all good-guy on me, Tinsley."

"I'm a private investigator!"

"You _were_ a private investigator," she corrected, hearing him haul himself over the wall after her. "Just as much as Fear _was_ a doctor. But you both got your licences revoked. So hey!" She flashed a smile back at him. "You have a lot more in common than you think!"

That was true. It was true for all of them. Their professions ranged from the mundane to the eccentric, but at the end of the day, they all shared one thing in common; they were bad people. Bad people who were brought together by one very unfortunate series of events (no correlation with the book, movie, or television series). This series of events will be explained in time. Maybe in the next chapter, although that might be a bit too soon. Perhaps the chapter after that. Because really, it is a very interesting sequence of chance encounters and overlapping schedules. But first, there is a robbery to both be staged and be foiled by the same group of people.


End file.
